


Encrypted

by ikarikari



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Well not entirely enemies but Killua is... Wary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-09 06:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikarikari/pseuds/ikarikari
Summary: Gon wakes up for the first time in years, greeted by the Zoldyck siblings, Killua and Alluka. He is a mysterious case for the siblings, an android with an unknown make, until its revealed his creator is none other than rogue scientist, Ging Freecss. Gon has been told his one purpose for his existence, but deep within his code lies an enticing secret, one which the siblings simply can't ignore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading. This first started off as a drabble that I wasn't going to continue but... lo and behold we are here, posting it on AO3. I really smell at summaries (and titles) but I hope you enjoy it!

He opens his eyes, a sharp noise rings in his ears, increasing in pitch before it dissipates. He blinks, his vision focusing as a form looks up at him and stands back, a thoughtful hand cradling his chin as keen eyes observed him carefully. A hum comes from his throat and his lips press into a tight line.

 

He’s never quite seen a human like him. Well, he never really saw much aside from his father. This one was younger, with pale, doll-like skin and somehow, even fairer hair. He was angular and tall, much different from the shorter build of his father. His father also has wear on his skin, a sign of age and hard work—this man was seemingly pristine.

 

“Nanika, run diagnostics,” he says with a snap of his fingers. A small voice responds, but it’s loud—but maybe that’s because he can hear it in his brain.

 

“Done,” a feminine voice responds, small and child-like.

 

The man strolls over to a large screen, keying in numbers on a dashboard, green binary scrolling up the black before showcasing the inner most workings on him in graphs and tables, algorithms and code.

 

“That’s a really old OS,” a voice says from the other side of the room. A young girl hops off her seat, little heels clacking against the steel floor as she nearly skipped over, pushing the silver-haired man with her shoulder so she can get a better look. “I haven’t seen this in _years_. It was limited—had a lot of memory issues—replaced before it really got going.”

 

She hums, much like the man, but more sing-song.

 

“Oh! He has a name!” she exclaims as she whips around, large, blue eyes glinting with excitement. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

 

“Gon,” he responds with a smile, and the girl reciprocates. He’s not sure why she was so excited over it, his name was clearly printed on the screen for both of them to see.

 

“Most droids have names, Alluka,” the man chastises, a hint of a playful tone in his words. He types something in the command line and prints what Gon assumes is a physical report. As it finishes, the man tears it from the slot it printed from, inspecting it closer as if more information would be revealed if his nose was touching the paper. “Though it’s weird, based on his hardware, this would be before they were given names. I don’t see a factory number either.”

 

“My dad made me,” Gon spoke up, happy to answer the man’s questions. He’d never spoke to any other human before, his brain lighting up in excitement at the chance to meet someone new. “He created that operating software, but it was just an alpha for me.”

 

Gon looks down and realizes he’s hooked up. Large, capillary wires spilled out of the open compartment of his chest, his artificial heart exposed, beating synthetic blood through his veins in a steady pulse. The back of his neck was also hooked, the atlas vertebrae split to reveal the motherboard.

 

The two humans look at each other, before the girl—Alluka—tugs on the man’s leather jacket to whisper in his ear. He gives her a look, furrowed brows but a cautious smile, Gon unable to distinguish or categorize what that feeling may be.

 

“But, _Killua_ ,” Alluka protests, fists balling as she stood her ground. “We need to observe him more. He’s different,”—she glances at Gon before continuing—“He’s not Zoldyck. Also… you saw it, right?”

 

“Yeah, I saw it,” Killua responds dryly.He clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing at Gon. This makes his heart falter in its rhythm and Gon looks down at the artificial muscle curiously—that’s never happened before. Killua’s scrutinizing gaze grew stronger as he stepped closer, Gon noticing the minute flecks of rich blue in icy eyes.

 

“Who’s your father?”

 

“Ging Freecss.”

 

Killua appears to know this name, brows raising in recognition. A smirk curls his lip, followed by a snort of a laugh. “Ging Freecss, huh?”

 

“Yes,” Gon answers. He pauses for a moment, unsure whether or not he should say more than that, but that was his gift. That’s what his father wanted him to do. “He created me for a specific purpose.”

 

Alluka butts in, head poking from behind Killua. “And what was that?”

 

“To think for myself.”

 

This makes Alluka grin, while Killua frowns. The polar reactions causes Gon to chuckle, which makes Alluka grin even wider.The two were probably related—they had the same nose shape, eye colour, yet their hair was like night and day—Gon remembered learning about siblings and the like. It didn’t take long understanding the concepts, his father loading dumps of historical data at a time, but there were more meanings to family from what he grasped from the explanation given by Ging. He wasn’t very good at explaining it.

 

“Well, that’s great,” Killua says with a huff. “I was hoping for spare parts and I somehow stumbled upon Freecss’ failed experiment. He always was a loon.”

 

Gon leans forward, but stops at the tension of cords. “You know my dad?”

 

“Everyone knows Ging. He was a quack. Helped us design our military units despite his theories on free will,” Killua says, folding his arms. “When my father gave him the boot, he took the rest of Ging’s work and used the completed software. The bastard had the gall to encrypt a worm that spread over our entire network. All servers were shut down for a good three days, all internal droids were useless.”

 

Gon snorts at that, but Killua continues. “Yeah, laugh it up. I’d be happier about it if I wasn’t the one that had to clean up his mess. My father did deserve it, though. Zoldyck Corp. is a real gem.”

 

Gon figures he must have been asleep for a long time. This lab was not Ging’s and the tech looked better, though his father’s lab was very clean nor up to date. If his father wasn’t there, something must have happened. Killua knew him, after all.

 

“Are we in Zoldyck Corp.?”

 

“Hell no,” Killua responds flippantly. “Fuck that place, you’re in my personal lab.”

 

“—Which is technically on the Rift, the barrier to the Wastes,” Alluka interjects to clarify. Killua shoots her a glare as a warning and she playfully shoves his arm. “Chill out, Brother. It’s okay.” Gon proverbially pats himself on the back for correctly guessing the two were siblings.

 

“The Wastes?” Gon asks curiously. Gon could search through rows and rows of historical data in mere seconds, and after a couple queries, it still came up blank. “What’s that?”

 

“It’s where I found you. Everything past the Rift is the Wastes, the result of nuclear fallout. The upper ring of Swaldani was always enclosed, the lower rings housed reactors to power the city. One day there was an uprising and Zoldyck Corp wiped everyone out. Turns out there were other means of energy—so taking out the reactors and slums was hitting two birds with one stone.” Killua’s face darkens, the end of his sentence coming out bitter and sharp.

 

Gon’s brow crinkles. “How am I still intact?”

 

“The house I assume was above you doesn’t exist anymore—I found a bunker. Iced the lock and broke in.”

 

“And you carried me back by yourself?”

 

“I have a hoverbike. I make frequent trips looking for parts. You are heavy as hell though, took me forever to lug you up the stairs.”

 

Gon sits on this. He couldn’t remember living in the lower ring when he was last operational. Gon knew of many things, but it was possible Ging kept some from him. He never stepped outside, not even once, so how was he to know where they _really_ were. Was his father still alive? Why would Ging leave him behind?

 

How many years had he been asleep?

 

“How long ago was the incident?” he presses firmly, the change in tone causing Killua’s brow to raise.

 

“Seven years ago,” Alluka answers. “The Wastes is still incredibly toxic… environment aside, there are also creatures. It’s _dangerous_.”She looks at Killua as she emphasizes the danger and Killua merely shrugs.

 

“Killua,” he begins and Killua’s gaze snaps to his, surprised to hear his name come from Gon’s mouth. “Will you take me there? I need to see it—Ging might be alive—he might have left me something.”

 

Alluka starts to protest when Killua cuts her off with the raise of his hand.

 

“You really want to go to the Wastes?” he asks sternly. Gon replies with a curt nod. If there are any hints that his father is out there, he’d want to know. Gon hadn’t finished learning yet. He was an unfinished product, he knew this, there were so many topics they had yet to discuss.

 

That, and the idea of stepping outside for the very first time ignited a flash to surge through him, goosebumps populating tanned skin.

 

“Fine,” Killua agrees, stepping closer. Gon can feel the faintest of breath warm the tip of his nose. “Help me find some parts and I’ll take you to the bunker.” Gon smiles at this but Killua doesn’t let him revel in happiness, jabbing a gloved finger to Gon’s chest.

 

“Don’t mistake this for a walk in the park. I’m not doing this as a favour. I’ll have a gun trained on your core. Any funny business and I won’t hesitate to take you out, you got that?”

 

Gon should’ve felt fear and yet, it only added fuel to his eagerness. Gon always dreamed of stepping outside and no amount of danger was going to stop him from making that step. Something deep within his code yearned for more than what was expected of him.

 

“Alluka,” Killua says, backing off. “Shut him down and unhook him for me.”

 

“Sure,” she complies, hopping over to the dashboard and landing into the wheeled chair, veering right. She spins around and waves to Gon. “I’ll see you in a few.”

 

Gon shuts his eyes. It feels natural to.

 

***

 

“You won’t kill him,” Alluka says as Gon is switched unconscious. “You saw it. There’s something there, so heavily encrypted that even Nanika couldn’t break it.”

 

She spins around in the chair to face her brother.

 

“Don’t you want to know?” she asks, cupping her hands in her lap. “Ging’s secret. He always hated the company… maybe there’s something in there that can help _us._ That and…”

 

“And?”

 

“He’s… strangely organic,” she says quietly. “he laughed, Brother. Gon said his purpose was to ‘Think for himself’. Maybe Ging really did create sentient life, or, he was close enough to make it seem real.”

 

Killua couldn’t deny that. There was something bizarre about the android in their brief meeting. It was possible Ging could have had notes in the bunker, but the idea of sentience was always something his family tried to avoid. It was considered morally wrong and inefficient, their company standard was for service droids. They weren’t meant to think and feel, only to serve, please, play a part or die in the line of fire.

 

He was raised to fear the idea of sentient droids. The havoc it would wreak would be catastrophic.

 

“We’ll see,” he replies, pivoting on his heel. “I’m not making any promises.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to make this teen and I hope you understand my struggle

Killua loads rounds into an old, cylinder Colt. The technology is primitive, but he’d rather use outdated weapons than purchase anything under the Zoldyck brand. Finding rounds was difficult, but he didn’t need them much, avoiding trouble was his specialty.

 

And yet, here he was, suiting up to go to the Wastes with some dysfunctional android he found by chance.

 

He should have just stripped him for parts when he found him. The only reason he didn’t was the circumstance of the find. Gon was standing upright in the middle of Ging’s shanty lab, thick, dusty cords spilling from his spine and up to the ceiling. Upon further inspection, Killua realized the damned thing was _smiling_ , eyes closed, as if it were having a pleasant dream.

 

There were no signs of Zoldyck on it, not the usual insignia placed on the nape of the neck. It also didn’t look Zoldyck made, most of the lower droids were only human-resemblant, tailored droids tend to look more human at their client’s request, but they still look robotic—soulless.

 

And, when it opened it’s eyes, brown—almost gold as they focused—set stared right at him. All androids had an inhuman, cyan colour to their eyes, if they resembled a human it was a clear sign that they weren’t, the synth-biotic liquid inside them creating the colour.

 

The anatomy of a droid was nothing like a humans and yet, Ging gave it a heart. It looked like a human heart. It frightened him how much effort went into Gon acting the part. Did Ging intend for him to walk among them as equals? At first glance, no one would picture it as a droid and perhaps, with more of it’s so-called ‘learning’, it would have assimilated perfectly.

 

Not to mention that encryption layered deep in its code—

 

“Killua,” the droid says, barrelling in on his thoughts. Killua jumps, shells dancing in his fingers as he attempts to keep them from falling onto the floor. His heart hammers in his chest, not expecting for the droid to be standing in his doorway.

 

He sucks in a breath and straightens in his seat. “Don’t call me that,” he snaps.

 

“What should I call you, then?” he asks, and there’s a slight tilt to his head, akin to a dog hearing a new word.

 

Killua pauses, then looks away, not sure how to answer that question. “Whatever,” he mumbles under his breath and loads the last of the shells into the chamber, closing it with a flick of his wrist.

 

The droid moves on. “Alluka said I should get some clothes from you.”

 

Killua returns his attention to Gon, and the droid has the nerve to gesture toward himself, as if Killua couldn’t see for himself that he had nothing but briefs. Killua stares.

 

Apparently a heart wasn’t the only useless organ Ging had given it.

 

He reflexively pinches the bridge of his nose, hand fanning out to push his fringe upward and out of his face. Never in his life had he been so uncomfortable in the presence of a droid, hell, he even built them himself, but the anxiety and unknown of this model was gnawing at him. He had to keep his cool, whether he liked it or not, Gon was worth exploring.

 

“Right,” he huffs, clicking his tongue. He rises from his seat and over to his drawers, looking for clothing that would even fit the droid. It was shorter than him, but broader, Ging seemingly creating a ‘son’ that was made for stopping bullet trains. _Unbelievable_.

 

He tosses clothing over to Gon as he plucks it from his drawers, the android catching them with ease and holding them up to inspect the style. The pants were a little long and had to be rolled, while the shirt was sort of tight, highlighting every ridge and curve of Gon’s artificial muscle.

 

“Well, they’ll do for now,” he says, eyes skirting away as he turned to pack his bag. “I’m sure Alluka will find you something better after we return from the Wastes.”

 

“Thank you, Killua,” Gon says, Killua responding with an inaudible mutter of nothing. He wasn’t even making sense at this point, he just knew that he hated the way Gon spoke—the tone was achingly positive, and nothing how it should be. Zipping up his pack, he grabs his mask, resting it atop of his head.

 

“You ready?” he asks and the droid nods. Its face straightens, however, and it opens his mouth as though its about to speak before closing it. Killua frowns. “What?”

 

“I was about to ask for a weapon,” Gon admits. It points to the holster at Killua’s waist. “If it’s as dangerous as Alluka says it is, shouldn’t I also have a firearm?”

 

Killua scoffs, shifting his weight to one side. “You really think I’m going to give _you_ a gun?”

 

How dare he ask for a gun. Killua just boot its ass up after gods know how long, gives it some clothes and it dares to ask for the one thing that could effectively end his life in a matter of seconds? How much trust did this thing expect Killua had in him?

 

“I cannot disobey the First Law,” it says, “I cannot harm a human. I may not be Zoldyck made, but I’m still bound by the rules of all robotics.”

 

Killua narrows his eyes at this, but apparently, Gon isn’t finished. It steps forward and Killua reflexively steps back.

 

“This isn’t a threat,” it continues, quieter. “But I am allowed to protect myself if you choose to kill me. I am built from Ging’s military OS. If you pulled your gun on me, I could incapacitate you before you pull the trigger.”

 

Killua swallows thickly. For a droid to be so upfront about it—most didn’t even bother speaking of the rules unless asked. Even their military droids weren’t allowed to harm people, they were just a means of defense per the chance of an attack. Most civilians didn’t know they existed.

 

He licks his dry lips. “How is that not a threat, the Third Law—“

 

“—I am allowed to protect myself, but it must not conflict with the First. Incapacitating you is fine as long as I don’t injure you.”

 

Gon backs off, holding its hands up in submission. Bronze eyes drifted downward towards his waist and Killua follows his gaze, fingers grazing the grip of his revolver. He didn’t realize that his body started to act on its own, but he retracts it quickly, as though the grip was a heated brand. Killua looks at Gon, and the droid looks back at him sympathetically—or was it pity—whatever it was, Killua hated it.

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Gon apologizes, lowering his arms. “I just want to help. If you have your gun trained on me then you won’t have anything protecting yourself, so…”

 

“I can take care of myself,” he retorts, a swell of embarrassment boiling to the point of anger. He couldn’t let the droid know how wary he was, though it was pretty apparent by his earlier display. Gon didn’t appear deterred and somehow, that bothered him even more. Killua straightened his pack on his back and pushed past the droid.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Killua says goodbye to Alluka, ruffling the top of her head as he passes by. Gon mimics this action and Alluka laughs, grabbing Gon’s large hand and lifting it from her head.

 

“Here, let’s do this instead,” she offers, and holds out Gon’s hand in front of her, Killua watching carefully. She playfully slaps both sides of Gon’s hand with her own and then curls her dainty hand into a fist. “You too,” she instructs and Gon listens, Alluka bumping their knuckles together. “Pretty cool, huh? That’ll be _our_ thing.”

 

“Yeah,” Gon agrees with a near-blinding grin.

 

“Bring back my brother in one piece, okay?”

 

“Will do,” the droid affirms and Killua resists the urge to roll his eyes. As if he’d never need help from some dumb robot.

 

Killua opens the door, leading to a narrow, dark alleyway. It was still the middle of the day, and Killua wanted to return before nightfall. Gon had stopped completely, looking up at the narrow strip of sky above them, a twinkling gleam in its eyes.

 

“It’s not blue,”he says in awe.

 

Killua huffs, “Hasn’t been blue for years. Not since the incident.” Killua looks up as well, the once blue sky was tinted an olive green. He was sure that if they moved farther out away from the city it would become blue again, the radiation surrounding the city was what likely made the sky appear that way.

 

“Your eyes are about that colour, though. What it _should_ look like.”

 

“That’s creepy,” he replies casually, ignoring how that comment makes his stomach flip.

 

“Is it? It’s just an observation.”

 

Killua frowns tightly, pushing a heavy lever upward. “It is. Now, shut up and come over here.”

 

A large door begins to open automatically and Gon hops over to stand at Killua’s side. As the door opens, it reveals Killua’s vehicle, a motorcycle that had flattened discs for wheels, sitting on the ground. He walks over, turning the key that allows the bike to come to life with a rumbling hum of its engine. It rises, the discs glowing underneath as it consistently hovers above ground.

 

Gon’s eyes light up again. Killua has a feeling this will be a reoccurring thing… it would be endearing if he wasn’t so wound up in a tight ball of anxiety. He dumps his bag into one of the bikes saddlebags and straddles the seat. He looks at Gon expectantly and the droid seems to get the queue, an o-shaped appearing on its mouth as it walked over.

 

The bike shifts under Gon’s weight, dipping lower until it adjusts itself.

 

“Where…” the droid begins carefully, and Killua looks over his shoulder, Gon keeping his hands to himself in clear confusion. “Where do I hold onto?”

 

“Not me,” Killua responds, not helping at all. He tugs on the throttle, the bike flaring to life, kicking his off with his foot. Killua always enjoyed going out on rides, though his extra baggage didn’t make him feel as free as he felt when he was alone. He inched them out of the alleyway, swerving out at the first sign of an opening, pushing past people to merge into the shabby highway.

 

He could hear Gon talking to himself, just barely over the roar of other vehicles and city life. Killua forgot that Gon had never once stepped outside, and the fact that he was impressed by the sky lead him to believe that he never left that bunker. Killua almost felt pity for him—almost.

 

The long stretch of road became less populated the father south they went, the quality of city life diminishing along with it. With the Wastes existing, the population of the Rift became more or less, the new slums. It was riddled with underhanded tactics, black market activity, illegal gambling, the list went on.

 

No one wanted to live right next to the radiation, no matter how protected they were.

 

Killua veers left, taking a smaller road between old, withered buildings. He wasn’t the only one that new this path, but sure as hell the only one that had _access_. The pulled up to a large tunnel, barred off by giant, electronic doors. It once used to be and entry way to the lower rings, like many others, but all were sealed. Killua personally took this one off the grid, and it wasn’t like his family personally observed all highway traffic, so it was safe enough for him to pass through.

 

Opening a large door was an awfully big distraction, however, so he went in by other means.

 

“Get off for a sec,” he commanded and Gon obeyed, hopping off. Killua slid off as well, trailing the bike beside him as he approached the toll station. He keyed in a password on a small number pad and the door opened with an audible click. “Open the door, will ya?”

 

Gon opened the door and allowed Killua and his bike to enter. Killua did this by himself numerous times, but if Gon wanted to go to the Wastes, it was going to help him out a little.The inside of the toll station was dark, half of it inside the tunnel itself, the only light coming from the underside of Killua’s bike. Gon went ahead and opened the second door to let Killua and the bike out, the droid letting the heavy door shut behind it—the noise echoing throughout the large, empty tunnel.

 

Killua sat back on the bike, adjusting his goggles and mask. Technically, the radiation started here, worming it’s way up the tunnel from the Wastes. Killua tried suiting up the best of his ability, trying to avoid going out into turn wearing a full blown hazmat.

 

Gon returned to its seat and they continued down the dark tunnel.

 

“Killua,” Gon says, just above the hum of Killua’s bike. “Are you afraid of the Wastes?”

 

“Yes,” he answers honestly. He was afraid of the Wastes, in a sense. It wasn’t the mutilated creatures or radiation poisoning that drove his fear, it was the guilt that he was inadvertently involved. His family was responsible for the incident and he’d always carry that with him. Sometimes it was relieving, seeing the slight discolouration of his skin, pale pigment turning faint grey from exposure.

 

It was just a smidgen of what he deserved.

 

“You should be too,” he says as he finishes that thought.

 

“You watch my back, I’ll watch yours, okay?” Gon says firmly, though Killua can detect the positivity in his voice.

 

He snorts. “Sure.”

 

Light approaches as they get closer to the end. Sunlight pouring through the opening, red sands spilling over the road and inside as the wind blew into the tunnel. He could feel Gon brace itself, hands gripping the seat. They passed through, and the world became wide, green sky meeting red desert far off into the horizon, remnants of buildings littering the landscape in inconsistent piles.

 

“Wow,” the droid says in awe and to a degree, Killua can agree. There was some kind of twisted beauty in this, but Killua could never forget its origin.

 

This was still the Wastes.


	3. Chapter 3

Red dunes wisp in the howling winds, a trail blazing behind them as Killua accelerates. Everything about the Wastes is unnatural, Gon thinks, but still, the environment intrigues him. How the greater half of a city can be turned to this, by human hands, is beyond rational thought. He can’t justify the means of the Wastes and it doesn’t stop him from revelling in its beauty.

 

With focused eyes, Gon’s able to see the little details in the blur of scenery: tiny, indescribable creatures pilfered areas and built homes in the sand. They look coated and not, an unnatural green hue, accenting murky grey textures. He assumes that these small creatures are not the dangers Killua spoke of, but still, he’ll never let one in Killua’s blindspot.

 

“Was I this far out?” he asks over the hum of the motorcycle. Calculating the distance and speed, Gon converts that they must be at least thirty kilometres out, the Wastes stretching even farther off into the horizon. It occurs to him that the Slums of Swaldani are much greater than he anticipated, the long stretch of desert highlighting what used to be. 

 

“Yeah,” Killua answers, slowing his speed, “I wouldn’t take you to the middle of nowhere. We’re close though.”

 

Gon’s body swells with an anxious anticipation. It has been a long time since he’s seen his room. Not that he truly feels the shift in time, being asleep for most of it, but the crumbling buildings and lack of civilization makes it seem like it’s be ages instead of the seven (plus) years. Seeing it for what it is… he wonders if Ging is truly alive.

 

Killua brakes, swinging the back end of the bike sideways as it skids to a stop. Gon nearly falls over, grabbing on to Killua’s belt as he lurches forward and then back.

 

“We’re here,” Killua declares, and Gon leans over the side, observing where ‘here’ is. There is shambles of an old building, nothing more than a few structural beams and somehow, a wooden floor. Off to the side is the entrance to the bunker Killua spoke of. Killua clears his throat, agitation making him short. “You can let go of me now.”

 

“Ah,” Gon gasps as he retracts his hands, pinning them to his chest. “Right. Sorry, Killua.”

 

Killua grumbles and hops off the bike, adjusting his jacket, leather snapping as he straightens the thick skin. 

 

Gon follows suit, jumping off the bike just as Killua deactivates the vehicle. His boots trudge through the heavy sand, red bleeding over brown in large, granular chunks. It was a bizarre consistency, one that wouldn’t suit people making the trek over the large desert by foot. 

 

Killua’s hand hovers over his sheathed Colt, peering into the fogged window of the bunker door. He examines the entrance, checking the lock and door handle with care until he decides it’s safe.

 

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here since I was,” he states, opening the large steel door, the edge pushing heavy sand. Gon catches the edge and assists, opening it the rest of the way without any issue. Killua stares at him, eyebrows knit tight and lips pressing into a tight line before mumbling: “Show off.”

 

Gon steps in first, Killua stating there was ‘No way in hell I’m turning my back to you, Hulk.’, and Killua follows, shutting the door behind them as quietly as he can. Gon nearly hops down the metal staircase, eagerly awaiting the place he once called home—still calls home—he is  _ home _ .

 

The door. The door he was never allowed to open is ajar, most likely from Killua’s previous trip into the bunker. Gon slips through the doorway, the windowless room dark and dusty. Gon adjusts his eyes, green filtering out the black, moving through the room looking for a light source. He flips a switch and the generator roars to life, lights strewn across the ceiling and walls hum with power as they cast the room in a warm glow. 

 

It is how he remembered it—sort of. It’s dustier. The round room has a few things out of place, but most things remains as they were. The bed is made immaculately, large wires and tubing hanging from the ceiling in the centre and attached to a console that is hooked up to multiple monitors that are mounted above Ging’s old desk. Books and the like are scattered in neat piles on the floor, some of them being Ging’s texts with the others being children’s picture books. Gon liked the simple stories, he read them all multiple times.

 

Killua lifts his goggles so they rest atop his head. He glances at Gon, walking farther into the room, being careful not to step on any of the books. 

 

“I found you right here,” Killua says, pointing to centre. Gon frowns, not remembering being hooked up to the console. Ging only did that when there needed to be changes—it was rare that he was hooked up at all, his father wanting him to live as organically as possible.

 

“That’s strange,” Gon thinks aloud, running his hand along the dusty wiring, lifting his fingers and rubbing the film between them. “I never was left hooked up,” he explains, and Killua shoots him a wary look.

 

“Well, where else are you gonna be when you’re shutdown?” he asks, looking around the room.

 

“My bed,” the droid explains, pointing to the bed, as if Killua can’t see it for himself in the small room. 

 

“That’s  _ your _ bed?”

 

“Of course,” Gon says matter-of-factly. “This was my home. This is where I slept.” He points upward. “The house is where my father lived.”

 

“Droids don’t sleep,” Killua mutters, drifting to the desk. He wipes the keyboard with his gloved hand and clicks his tongue, typing on unresponsive keys. Gon walks up to his side, eyeing the dead monitors, reaching up and sliding down the side while pressing buttons.

 

Killua sighs, exasperated. “I think it’s dead.”

 

Gon frowns tightly. Ging’s tech has always been old and even inside the bunker, it was possible that the radiation could have affected it… though Gon is completely unscathed, so that rules radiation out. He squats, wrapping his arms around the thick tower and pulling it from the wall. He opens the case and his frown grows tighter.

 

It’s empty.

 

The guts of the tower are completely removed. There’s no signs of rush, the skeleton seemingly fine, save for the layer of dust that coat it. He turns the tower towards Killua, biting the inside of his synthetic cheek. He doesn’t understand—why would Ging up and leave him here but take everything else?

 

He feels… heavy.

 

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Killua says with a click of his tongue. He looks down at the droid, skepticism on his face softening just a smidgen at his pathetic face. With a huff, he adds, “Well, don’t sit there and sulk, I’m sure there’s  _ something _ around here with a clue.”

 

It’s not said with any sort of care, but Gon feels relief at Killua’s words. Though the mystery of Ging’s disappearance leaves him with a weight on his chest, Killua manages to make him feel lighter with a few words.  Gon smiles at the human, rising to his feet and it breaks into a full, toothy grin.

 

“What?” Killua says shortly, neck visibly tense. “Wipe that dopey grin off your face.”

 

“That was nice,” Gon comments with a slight playfulness, stepping over the tower. Killua takes a step back, grimacing. “Thank you.”

 

In the amber glow of the dim bunker, a reddish hue flushes Killua’s cheeks. “Whatever,” he mumbles and pivots, walking away to sort through some scattered papers on the messy desk. He continues to grumble to himself, not entirely audible, Gon only able to sort out a few words, like ‘stupid’ and ‘tin can’.

 

Killua lifts a sheet and checks both sides, pausing before slamming it down on the desk, annoyed by the silence. “Don’t just  _ stand _ there, droid. Come over here and help me.”

 

“Okay,” Gon agrees, moving to Killua’s side and inspecting the loose papers. 

 

Most of the papers are scrawled with nearly illegible writing, Ging’s notes messy and unorganized. Gon remembers Ging taking notes while Gon would explain something he’d been asked. He wasn’t sure why, but the man preferred having written notes, despite having a readily available computer to store them all in.

 

Killua picks up a sheet, holding it closer to his face. “This is just a grocery list,” he says, tossing the paper off to the side.

 

“I think we should take all of them,” Gon suggests, catching the paper that Killua tossed. He places it on the table atop an unorganized stack. “My father had a thing for secrets.”

 

Killua scoffs. “You got that right.”

 

“No,” he corrects with a slight shake of his head, holding up another page for Killua to see. “Encrypted messages. He liked secret messages—rearranging words, scrambling texts, binary code to text—you name it. It was a hobby of his.”

 

“Oh,” Killua replies lamely, taking the paper Gon is holding and inspecting it closer. Gon’s not sure why Killua holds things so close to his face to read them, but he thinks it’s charming, in a sense, as if he’d gain more knowledge having the paper touch the tip of his nose. His eyes skirt from the page to Gon. “You think Ging holds the secrets of the world in a tuna casserole recipe?”

 

At that, Gon laughs, a little chuckle humming through the motors and fans in his lungs and chest. He feels warmer than his usual running temperature. Regardless of Killua’s shortness with him, Gon finds the other man quite funny. The skepticism is warranted, that’s for sure.

 

“Maybe,” he answers, flashing a genuine smile.

 

“You got a sense of humour now?” Killua asks, brows crinkling just the slightest.

 

“I always did,” he replies, plucking the tuna casserole recipe from Killua’s hand and placing it on the stack he’s creating. “I was taught that people who didn’t were boring.” 

 

Ging was very adamant on Gon having a sense of humour. He claimed that too many people were uptight and literal in this world, taking most of the things he said at face value rather than ‘reading between the lines’. Perhaps it was because his father was usually unfairly cryptic in nature, his tone unchanging whenever he switched from sarcasm to all seriousness. Gon could understand if people thought Ging was confusing, it took rather long for him to grasp the concept that anybody could lie, and more often than not, that people would.

 

He just never thought his father would be one of them.

 

“Well,” Killua huffs as he pushes all the papers together into the middle of the table. “Ging’s sense of humour wasn’t funny at all. It was annoying—inconvenient.”

 

Gon chuckles quietly to himself. He believes that.

 

The two of them do another sweep of the small bunker, Killua inspecting the large cords hanging from the ceiling in tangles. It’s strange how Gon can’t remember being put to sleep like that, the last thing he remembers is laying down in his bed as he always would, turning in for the night after reading one of the many books Ging had strewn along the floor. Aside from the thick film of dust layering over everything in the room, there’s no sign of damage due to the incident. Ging must have run out in a hurry, he thinks, but the time it took to gut his computer would have been halved if he’d simply woken Gon up. When Ging left, Gon could have gone with him, he could have helped—

 

“—I think we’re done here,” Killua declares. He strides over to the middle of the room, kicking over a pile of books in his wake. Killua coughs at the plume of dust that rises in the air, swatting it away with a gloved hand. “Let’s go,” he bites out.

 

Gon merely nods in agreement, following Killua out of the bunker with the many unsorted papers in his hand. The bright light of the sun is harsh on his eyes, his pupils dilating while a thin, dark lens covers the entire iris, heightening his vision. Killua pulls his goggles down to rest on his face, taking the papers from Gon and placing them in one of the saddlebags hanging off the side of his bike. The wind whips violently around them, lashes of red sand bursting off the ground in crimson chunks and dissipating as they were carried down south. Sensors in Gon’s skin alert him to the rising temperature, the harsh rays of sunlight warming the desert significantly.

 

Killua starts up his bike, the machine hovering over the sand, causing little, continuous tornados underneath the spinning plates. Killua straddles it, dark boots pinning him in place. He motions for Gon to get on.

 

“There’s a strap,” he says, speaking louder than the howling winds, reaching behind him and lifting it off the seat for Gon to see. “Hold onto that.”

 

“Okay,”  Gon nods, smiling at the lack of irritation in Killua’s tone. They’re getting somewhere--slowly.

 

Killua tugs on the throttle before kicking off, Gon lurching forward and back, chest bumping with Killua’s spine.

 

Gon looks behind him, watching the sand kick up in small spirals, the abandoned bunker shrinking smaller and smaller as they drive farther out.

 

He feels melancholy. Where he once felt whole, there is now a missing piece. He can't understand Ging's intentions. The Wastes was created in a day, the changing sky and red sands all part of the aftermath. Any and all life forms were affected by the aftermath, resulting in mutations. His father was a smart man, but the chances of him predicting the incident is slim at best. Gon wants to believe Ging's still out there, but if he is, the possibility of Ging leaving on his own accord weighs heavily on Gon's mind. 

 

Why would he leave him? It betrays all the familial morals he was taught.

 

Killua isn't surprised at all at this new revelation and Gon starts to think he knows his father far more than Gon ever has.

 

"Killua--" Gon starts, cut off by a loud, earth-shaking rumble below them. Killua's bike hovers above the ground and yet, Gon still feels it, gaze following the sound in hope of pinpointing it's location. "Don't stop the bike," he orders, unsure if this is some sort of unnatural phenomenon or one of the ghastly creatures Killua spoke of.

 

And then it stops, the sound of the bike's whirling hovering mechanism now audible once again.

 

"What was that--!" Killua asks, the tail end of his sentence heightened as an explosion of crimson appears before them, sand airborne akin to rolling waves crashing against the coast. The power of it causes Killua's bike to swerve, the momentum flinging both of them off with extreme force. Gon feels his body hit the sand, arms tucking in as he rolls to a stop.

 

He shakes his head, sensors in his brain going off like haywire alarms. /Where is Killua?/

 

The sand provides the unknown creature with ample cover, a large silhouette--about ten feet tall, Gon analyzes--using it as a shroud. 

 

"Killua!" Gon calls, picking himself up to his feet. There is no answer, but a very loud curse, to which the creature follows, turning its back on Gon. The sand begins to subside due to the howling wind, revealing a large, ghastly creature, horned and reptilian, yet strangely human in it's biped nature. It's spine protrudes out of its hardened, toxic flesh, skin patchy and discoloured from years and years of radiation. The smell of searing, rotting flesh fills the air, almost suffocatingly so, as the creature’s skin sizzles under the exposure of sunlight.

 

Gon doesn't think. He runs. Controlling his power output, he focuses whatever isn't need for basic functionality in his legs to propel himself faster, in hopes of getting to Killua before the creature does.

 

He overshoots a little, passing by Killua's crumpled form against the frame of an old house. He's holding up his Colt, the gun visibly shaking as he attempts to brace the underside of his arm with his other arm. Gon skids to a stop, hand raking through the sand to help anchor his propulsion. Gon runs to Killua's side, kneeling down to assess any damage. 

 

Golden eyes hone in on a large, jagged gash running along the inside of Killua's thigh. He doesn't have time to run analysis, but the wound begins to bubble, porcelain skin boiling and hissing as the flesh begins to cinge at the edges.

 

"Fuck," Killua hisses, cringing as his gun remains trained on the approaching creature. Gon follows the end of the barrel, the monster looking even more terrifying from the front. Gon's facial recognition kicks in, taking note of the lack of nose, holes remaining where cartilage did not, the head as a whole resembling that of a human skull. The jaw is perpetually open, borderline unhinged, canines sharpened, saliva dripping in large, thick gobs from black gums and onto the hot sand.

 

It's a pill he doesn't have time to truly swallow--this thing was once a person.

 

Gon turns to Killua. “Killua, give me the gun,” he demands evenly.

 

“No,” he bites out, pulling back the hammer with his thumb. One of his eyes screws shut, teeth gritting as he angles the barrel, lining up the shot briefly before firing. The kickback of the Colt causes Killua to drop the gun, his other arm gripping the shoulder, watching as the monster reels back, the bullet lodging into the sunken socket of its face, pools of black ichor leaking an equally dark substance that splattered onto the sand and sinking into the grain. The mutant reaches for its face, a low growl reverberating in its throat.

 

Gon, however, can’t focus on the beast.

 

“It’s dislocated,” he says, assessing Killua’s shoulder. It’s obvious it was before he took the shot, this standard of firearm unable to cause such trauma to an experienced marksman. “You’ll make it worse.” 

 

He grabs the gun before Killua can reach for it, rising to his feet. 

 

There’s nothing on this creature in Gon’s database, the closest match being a human being--which conflicts with his programming. Killua’s shot is lucky, given the circumstances, yet it failed to terminate the brain, despite Gon being able to see the bullet lodged deep in the mutated grey matter through pieces of shattered skull and pestilent flesh. 

 

Being exposed for this long, Gon isn’t surprised that certain organs had grown stronger, the creature standing at an imposing ten feet--but it’s rather slow, arms elongated and hands enlarged, sharpening into honed claws that almost drag on the ground. Gon notices the blood tipping the nails of its right hand, the root cause of Killua’s slashed thigh mere moments ago.

 

He’s not sure he can kill something so large with so little, his mind running through calculations on the best course of action. Gon decides he may be able to paralyze it, ducking to dodge a massive, horizontal sweep of the creature’s arm. It screams in frustration, the left side of its face a festering, bubbling mess, blinding it temporarily. 

 

Gon wastes no time, firing off a round into the other eye. It hits perfectly, Gon’s targeting system much better than the human eye, the humanoid crying out in pain as it claws at its face, more tar-like blood seeping between spidery, skeletal fingers.

 

The creature swings wildly--blindly--hoping to hit any target in its growing anger. Gon dips and dodges the swing, the arms having a great amount of reach, trying to round the monster in hopes of having a clear shot at the base of the spine. Gon stumbles back, gangly nail just barely missing the tip of his nose.

 

“The heart--” Killua calls, raspy and desperate. Gon looks back, the other man looking barely conscious as he slumps against the wreckage. “On the back--it’s on the back--shoot it!”

 

Gon immediately aims for one of the kneecaps, the cartilage bursting as the joint collapses, thin legs unable to hold up the upper body. The creature fails to catch itself, face falling into the ground, sand sticking to its gummed skin.

 

The massive lump on its back is exposed. It doesn’t even look like a heart, but a tumour of mass trying to escape the confines of it’s withering, meaty skin. Gon runs over to the wreckage, Killua muttering bitter commands in a drunken stupor, the blood loss and acid damage thinning out his consciousness.

 

“Whaddaya?” he slurs, pointing at the writhing beast. “Shoot it now!”

 

Gon ignores Killua for the most part, rummaging through wood and beams in search of a sharp object. He eyes a long, rusted pipe, the edge of it serrated after years of wear. He pushes off the sand, stumbling and catching himself, rushing over to the mutant before it can stand. Gon presses his boot into the rotting flesh, raising his arms high and driving the pipe down, skewering the beating lump. Ghoulish blood splatters and gores, gushing out in excess out of its vital organ. The creature writhes, some of the tar-like blood flying onto Gon’s face and clothes, until it slows, gradually coming to a complete stop.

 

Gon’s heart beats in his chest rapidly and he feels as though he’s overheating. He’s never felt something so urgent since his creation, the desire to protect Killua and escape his own death seemingly taking over him. Killua could have been killed if he failed to act accordingly, a creature that Gon failed to access on his own, needing the help of Killua, half-conscious and hurting, to command him from afar. Pathetic, considering the OS he was built upon.

 

He turns, flipping the safety on before sticking the gun in his back pocket.

 

“Stupid droid,” Killua mutters as Gon approaches, eyes half-lidded and looking elsewhere. Sweat dribbles down his face, chest heaving as he struggles through a cold sweat. “You coulda been killed--I--” he motions to his injured thigh, scowling, finishing his sentence without words.

 

“I know,” Gon murmurs, kneeling down to take a better looking at Killua’s wound. “I’m sorry.”

 

It’s quiet for a moment, Gon’s hands running along the frayed seams of Killua’s pants. The wound is deep and the tissue inside is damaged from some sort of acid. It’ll take quite a long time to heal, and if left exposed to the radiated air, will fester into something much worse.

 

“Thank you,” Killua grumbles, jerking away when Gon’s hands get too close to the wound. “It hit me when I couldn’t see. If you weren’t--” he struggles through his words, eyes resting on his lap, blinking hard. He moves onto something else, his thoughts jumbled. “My bike. It’s totalled, I think.”

 

Gon peers over his shoulder. Killua is right, his bike is in pieces, the whole front end torn where Killua was tossed off and injured. He turns back to Killua, sporting an apologetic smile.

 

Killua huffs. “I knew it.” His breathing becomes more haggard and his head begins to droop, hanging low. “Gotta… get back… home. Alluka.”

 

“I’ll get you home, Killua,” Gon assures, reaching back to lift Killua by the small of his back and under the knees. Killua hisses as his thighs make contact, but it’s the best Gon can do, and it’s a long walk home.

 

As he approaches the destroyed bike, he notices the saddlebags are torn, papers flying out and riding the wind. The purpose of their trip flies out of sight--out of reach. A single page flaps wildly, caught in the zipper. He kneels down, doing his best not to disturb Killua in his hold and grabs it.

 

Gon laughs bitterly. It’s the tuna casserole recipe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long... i've been writing scenes out of order based on moods haha. this chapter gave me quite a bit of trouble, but i think i like how it came out!! thanks to kasuria for beta-reading for me!!


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Do you dream?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Gon presses more disinfectant on Killua’s wound, causing the other man to hiss and recoil at the purple, festering mess. “Do you dream?” he repeats, evenly.

 

They had been sitting there in silence for the past few minutes,  the initial wave of panic over Killua's gash subsided . Alluka couldn’t find any traces of radiation poisoning, Killua thanked whatever higher power for that, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t ugly as all hell. Gon had been treating the wound while Alluka went out for supplies in town, something Killua argued against but ultimately lost because he was bedridden by his wound (and a giant, overbearing robot).

 

Dreams hadn’t been a topic. This was brought up by the droid’s own curiosity.

 

“All humans dream,” he answers, finally. 

 

“I’m asking if  _ you _ dream, Killua,” Gon replies, tacking his name at the end to avoid Killua beating around the bush. 

 

“Why the sudden interest?” Killua dodges and Gon merely shrugs. The droid lifts the tweezers and rolls his wrist for Killua to continue. “Of course I dream—just been a while.”

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

“The deeper the sleep, the likeliness you’ll dream,” Killua explains, wincing as Gon cleans a sensitive spot. “I haven’t really slept in a long time. I have to protect Alluka.”

 

“I don’t need to sleep, Killua,” the droid retorts, amber eyes flicking up to meet Killua’s. “Let me keep watch, that way you can rest.”

 

“You really think I’m going to let you—“

 

“— _ Killua, _ ” Gon interjects, voice so low and firm that it sends a shiver down Killua’s spine. This is the first time Killua has heard Gon sound even relatively close to angry, unable to tear himself away from Gon’s powerful gaze. If he’s being honest, this is the most human Gon has ever sounded. Droids don’t get angry, hell, they don’t show any programmed hostility at all, but Gon isn’t being hostile.

 

He’s being protective.

 

Killua’s lips press to a tight line, jaw clenching and teeth grinding against each other. He doesn’t know what to think of all of this. Gon had saved his life in the Wastes and carried him back here on his own, risking his own life in the process. Killua had passed out from the pain, the acid melting his flesh was too much for his consciousness to bare. Apparently he’d been asleep for nearly two days, which was probably the most he’d gotten in the last month.

 

_ Ah, that’s why _ , Killua thinks,  _ Gon’s done nothing but watch me sleep for the past two days _ .

 

“Have…” Killua begins, cutting the tense silence that fell between them, “you ever dreamed, Gon?”

 

The droid stops. This is the first time Killua has referred to him by name, he realizes, and immediately wants to retract the sentiment. It just sort of slipped out, but the droid is looking at him in surprise, a glint of background processing shining in widened eyes. Killua can feel heat rise up his neck, instinctually sinking into the propped up pillows of his bed.

 

“Droid,” Killua snaps quietly. “Dream.”

 

The droid comes to. “Oh. Yes. I have dreamt before. Once.”

 

Killua knows that’s entirely impossible. There are chemicals in your brain, things that remain deep down in your subconscious that trigger such imagery while you sleep. Gon doesn’t have any of these things, every bit of him is artificial—produced. 

 

“Would you like to see it?” he asks and it derails Killua’s train of thought.

 

“What?”

 

“I recorded it,” he explains, tapping his temple with his forefinger. “It was the only time I ever dreamed. I didn’t want to lose it.”

 

Killua’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t know how to feel. There is absolutely no way Gon is able to dream. Physically impossible, regardless of feats in modern day science, and yet, Killua really wants to believe him. 

 

“Sure,” he manages, shifting in his seat. “Let’s wait until Alluka is back though, okay?”

 

———

 

Alluka returns not too much later. By the time she arrives, groceries and supplies hanging from her arms, Killua is already redressed and taken care of. Groceries are dropped the moment she lays eyes on Killua, slinging her arms around Killua’s neck and pressing her face to his chest.  Killua pats the brunette’s head, Alluka squeezing enough to hurt.

 

“Thank God, you’re awake,” she murmurs into the fabric of Killua’s shirt. “I was so worried.”

 

“I’m fine,” he strangles out. Killua reaches up and eases Alluka’s arms off of him, Alluka getting the hint and letting him go. “Anyway…” he says, eyes drifting to Gon, broad stature standing in the doorway. There was an anxiety swelling within him, unsure what he really wanted:

 

To be right or be proven wrong.

 

“‘Anyway’,” she repeats, prodding for him to continue.

 

“Gon has something he wants to show us,” he continues. He bites his lower lip briefly. “Can you hook him up, Alluka?”

 

Alluka looks between the two men, looking back at Killua curiously.

 

“Okay…” she agrees, some slight caution in her voice. She hops off the bed and leaves to get her station prepared. Gon walks back in, offering a hand to Killua, which Killua reluctantly takes, knowing very well how painful it was to walk on his own at the moment. 

 

His arm is wrapped around his shoulder, held at the wrist by one of Gon’s meaty hands, while the other hooks at Killua’s waist to offer more support. Most droids felt cold to the touch, but Gon was surprisingly warm, his synthetic skin almost life-like, goosebumps sprouting and spreading up his own arm.

 

Alluka drags a chair across the floor for Killua to sit in, Gon helping him ease into it. Once Killua is seated, Gon tugs at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it over his head to be hooked up. 

 

_ That _ , Killua thinks, observing the external vertebrae that ran up Gon’s spine and ended at the base of his skull. If Gon didn’t have that, he would pass as a human being. He was so organic in almost every way possible and surely, Ging could have made it so that spine was hidden under a thick layer of skin, but it wasn’t, which led Killua to believe that it was either left there on purpose or Gon was incomplete.

 

Gon sits at the station, Alluka rounding behind him. She pops open his atlas, and pulls a large, black wire from the back of the machine, hooking it into the open socket. 

 

When she’s done, she leans forward to peer at Gon’s face, beads clacking against one another. “What’cha showing us?” she asks, blue eyes wide.

 

“My dream,” he answers candidly. Killua and Alluka exchange looks from across the room, Killua nodding just the slightest. She too must have the same concerns as him. Gon merely smiles, waiting for the go ahead. Alluka takes a seat at her desk.

 

“Go ahead, Gon,” Killua says, folding his arms. 

 

Gon pauses, searching for the recording he had stored away. An image appears on screen, slightly motion blurred and paused. A hush falls over the room, Killua not even sure he’s still breathing.

 

The droid presses play.

 

_ Everything is in motion, the sound whirring as if it was fast forwarded from a VHS tape. It starts off with an ocean view, rolling waves and tiny sailboats drifting along the horizon.  _

 

_ “Hey,” a voice calls—a woman’s voice—off screen. The point of view whirls around and there’s a woman standing there. Her hair is red, cropped and pulled back, loose pieces blowing in the breeze. “What are you doing?” she asks with an annoyed smile on her face, eyebrow cocked in suspicion. _

 

“Gon,” Killua asks and Gon pauses. “Who is that?”

 

“I don’t know,” he answers, shrugging.

 

_ It begins again, a man’s voice, very close to Gon’s—this is his dream—answers. “Just lookin’, I won’t be here for a while, so…” _

 

_ “And who’s fault is that?” she retorts, putting her hands on her hips. _

 

_ The man laughs nervously and the audio muffles, as if something is being fumbled over a microphone. The wind blows and laundry that hangs on the line in the background whips violently. A sheet rips off the line and travels off screen. _

 

_ “Oh, Mito—“ the man says and a pointing hand appears on screen. The woman—Mito—turns around and gasps, running for the rogue sheet. She stops part way and starts laughing, hands resting on her knees with a large, toothy smile. The man turns toward the cause of her laughter, a form having stopped the sheet from blowing away. _

 

_ Mito walks forward, chuckling, lowering herself to her knees in front of the figure. _

 

_ “I caught it, Aunt Mito!” a child says, underneath the blankets. _

 

_ “You sure did,” she responds, warm eyes crinkling as smiled. She pulls the sheet up and over, revealing a young child’s face. Bright amber eyes, dark, spiky hair splayed against the fabric. His smile is bright and innocent, and— _

 

Killua’s stomach drops. For some reason, there’s a wetness threatening his eyes. He doesn’t quite understand, but he feels heartbroken. Gon’s dream isn’t a dream at all. The reality is dreadful, Killua thinks, and he truly wishes the dream Gon was showing him was just that. But that child—it was Gon. Droids don’t age, not unless they’re built and rebuilt over and over again.

 

Killua doesn’t believe that’s the case for the droid abandoned in the Wastes.

 

_ She kisses the child’s forehead and scoops him up into his arms, sheet and all. She looks back at the man, face falling just the slightest. _

 

_ “Put that away,” she says. “Granny’s making dinner and we need to help.” _

 

_ “Right,” the man says and the dream stops. _

 

“That’s it,” Gon says. “When it ended, I woke up.”

 

Killua’s mouth goes dry. “Gon…” he begins to say, Alluka looking at him warily. He doesn’t know how to say it. Gon is a droid, but he’s tiptoeing around the issue as though Gon might burst into tears. “This… isn’t a dream. This is a memory.”

 

“Memory?” Gon parrots, not following. “I don’t remember this at all.”

 

“It’s not  _ your _ memory. It’s a recording. This happened in this world, at one point,” Killua explains as evenly as he can. The more he thinks about it, the clearer the issue was becoming. Details aside, it was a very harsh truth. “I think your father might have given this to you. By accident… or not… I don’t know…” he trails off, biting the fat of his lip.

 

“What do you mean?” Gon asks and Killua swears he can hear disappointment in his voice.

 

“When you dream,” Alluka pipes up, “Your brain creates images from things you’ve seen before. It’s impossible to create a human being without having seen them first. Maybe it would make sense if it were your eyes we were following in this ‘dream’ but—“

 

“—The kid is you, Gon.” Killua finishes for her. Alluka looks at him, tight-lipped and visibly anxious.

 

“That doesn’t make any sense, I’m a droid. I was built this way,” Gon responds, gesturing to himself. “I haven’t been anything else.”

 

“Maybe that’s true,” Killua says, exhaling. “You are you, but you’re also that kid—in a sense.”

 

“What are you getting at, Brother?” Alluka asks, cautiously. She’s sitting at the edge of her seat, thin hands gripping knobby knees.

 

“I think Gon existed once. Not as a droid, but as a real, human being,” Killua says as he straightens in his seat. “Ging never talked about his family but… from what I can tell, they weren’t in his life when he was working at Zoldyck Corp.”

 

“You think… they’re gone?” Alluka presses, piecing together Killua’s implications.

 

“Yes,” he says, raking a slender hand in silver locks. “I think… Gon is modelled off the ‘real’ Gon. It’s just a theory though, this video can tell us a lot of things if we look at it more. Alluka, copy it over to our drive.”

 

She doesn’t answer right away and instead, looks at Gon, large eyes softening. “Can I copy it?” she asks.

 

Gon merely nods, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. His smile has faded, golden eyes seemingly glossed over in thought. Killua can’t imagine what the droid is thinking—from what he knew of Gon, apparently he was capable of some emotions. Was it possible to feel loss? Ging was MIA and the dream he took pride in wasn’t even a dream, but a disturbing look into what may have been the cause of Gon’s creation.

 

Killua rests his head in his hands. There has to be more to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally had this scene written out a long time ago, haha. it was super fun to write! thank you to kasuria for beta-reading!


End file.
